OQ Prompts
by seducedbypxwer
Summary: My takes based off of the prompts posted on Imagine OQ on twitter. Some will be one shots, others might be explored further.
1. Hickies

inspired by imagine_OQ on Twitter. They have the cutest prompts!

 **Imagine Regina going out and not noticing she has a very noticeable hickey on her neck.**

It starts off slow, unhurriedly, a gentle thrust against her that rouses her tired bones to respond, to ache, for more of the way he fills her.

Usually it's her who wakes up early, has to fight for several moments just to earn a pouty response from him, but this morning it had been him who had found something gorgeous in the way the morning light struck the tender curves of her body beneath the white sheets, had passed calloused hands over the exposed flesh of a queen he never could have imagined to touch – to have – and pressed tender kisses at her collarbone until she roused from whatever dream she had been having to this one.

A groggy smile through heavy lids is all he gets as a response when he slides home tenderly, lips just a breath, a whisper as he moves lazily within her, awakens every crevice of her to his loving touch. It's a beautiful way to wake up – the best if she's being honest – and she winds a heavy arm to grasp and dig against his shoulders, leaves little crescent moons as a reminder for later.

He's always been very careful about where he marks her, knows that she has always been one to show more than she needs to – now even more so to tease him, little minx – but it's difficult to think of anything but loving her, showing her, and she's not sure why she doesn't realize how hard he's sucked against her neck until it's too late.

David looks a little uncomfortable at their table when he catches sight of her, that usually annoying smile of his melting into something wavery and Mary Margaret's knowing smirk has Regina in slight disarray when she takes her seat just in front of them at the booth, awaits for Henry to return with Emma.

"What?" Is all the former queen can manage because if she has to look at that smug smirk on Snow's face any longer she might have reason to revert to her old ways just this once.

"Nothing." Snow's eyes smile behind the cup of coffee she's brought to her lips, pauses a moment dramatically before adding, "I would have gone with a scarf this morning, that's all."

For a moment she's unsure of what she would need a scarf for – the weather hasn't been too bad, is reaching that enjoyable temperature – but it's David's uncomfortable gaze that drops to her neck that has her hand flying to her neck, curling around the spot she can't see.

No.

Without much of a warning she stands, hand still cupped around her neck as she nearly flies to the restroom, slams the door rather harder than she meant to but then again she doesn't exactly care.

It's a nasty bruise, positioned right at her collarbone and she remembers now exactly when she got it, this morning in her blissful haze with him between her legs and knows how she missed it during dressing, when said bliss made her late (again) for breakfast with her family.

Gods, he's gonna pay for this. She can already see that smug look on his face, dimples and all as she runs the swelling mark, catches her traitorous smile in the mirror at the thought of it.

With a sigh, she conjures a scarf – she could so easily get rid of it but she needs proof for later on, and not at all because she likes the tender reminder of his lips on her skin and his thrust against her hips – and ties it securely around her neck, covers up the scandalous love bite before she makes her way out to her son and their ever growing family.

And if the next morning Regina leaves a secret mark on Robin that has Will and Killian tossing banter at him, well, it's fair play.


	2. Neighbors

another one of those oq prompts. I've got a few lines up so, yeah.

 **Imagine Regina getting the mail in only a robe but gets locked out. Neighbor Robin comes to help.**

they're incompatible.

clash every moment they're together and prepare themselves for it when they're not.

he's loud, obnoxious, seems to have no consideration for her and her very impressionable son.

if she hadn't spent months just trying to get the place, the job, to establish her name and herself in this new town she would have bolted with Roland the first chance she had.

But she can't subject him to any more turmoil. His questions are growing with his size, trying to wrap his mind around their circumstances, their move, the absence of his father, and she just wants him to settle in for once, to make some friends – even if to her disapproval he seems to find a liking to the very man she despises and his trailing son.

This is for her son, she reminds herself, for him and him alone.

she wakes just with the morning sun, chases it as it makes its way up into the sky, follows it into the kitchen as it greets her with a warm glow as her fingers press on the coffee maker.

Roland will not be up until another hour or so (he likes to sleep in on weekends and she doesn't have the heart to wake him), so she runs a hand over her robe, ties it securely around her waist before stepping outside to pick up the mail.

She notices that the town seems to like sleeping in as much as Roland does, the eerie silence of the streets almost overwhelming as she makes the trek, fuzzy sandals scraping against the pavement before she comes to stand in front of the mailbox.

There's a check and more bills, as is expected, and she closes it with a tight lip, makes her way back over towards the house while thumbing through the letters, half expecting to see something from her mother but not terribly surprised to find she hasn't had the deceny to call or ask how the move has been, how her grandson is.

Manicured fingers find the knob and she turns only to have it resist.

Her eyes fall on the golden sphere, trying a little harder this time even if she's sure what the problem is, and it just rattles against the strength of her hand.

Shit.

Her other hand comes to grip the handle, gives the door a harder shove with her shoulder – as if that would really do much, great thought, Regina – but the only result of her struggle will be a bruised shoulder later on.

This wasn't happening.

She wasn't stuck outside of her house clad in nothing but a robe.

"Well if it isn't the queen herself."

The letters have scattered onto the ground at the sound of his strained voice, tinged with a hint of amusement she can practically feel in her bones, her grip on the handle tightening until her knuckles are white because what are the odds that the British prick would be here when she was so vulnerable?

Of course. Very funny. Whoever was in charge of all this would pay.

"You know if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were locked out of your own house." She can practically see the dimples dipping into his face, the one that irritates the living shit out of her every time she chides him from across the lawn for being too loud, for parking in her driveway, for being himself. She wants to turn around, to use the scary face she has come to hone to her very advantage but she's not wearing any makeup, hasn't had the time to fix her hair, and part of what makes her scary face effective is that she looks stunning while she does it.

"If I didn't know any better I'd think you were at the wrong house." What the hell was he doing on her property anyway? His door was just a few strides away.

"Couldn't help but notice your struggle, m'lady." His lady, she tries to suppress her laugh but it bubbles out anyway, shoulders shaking because she is not his lady– far from.

"You know stalking is illegal."

"I'm your neighbor, Regina. I have no choice but to look even when I don't want to."

That's what makes her whip around because no, that wasn't an excuse, not a good enough one anyway, and she's hit with the smell of sweat – the sight of it too, as she catches the beads of water trailing down his forehead and pooling around his neck. The gruffness to his voice makes a little more sense now, strained under the force of his jog, and she doesn't mean to look toward the broad expanse of his chest but it's basically eye level for her so it's not like she has much of a choice. She shifts on her feet to steady herself, catches herself just as quickly before her eyes meet his again and there are those dimples.

"Who's stalking now?"

Regina scoffs, let's it roll off her lips as she turns again to hide the tint in her cheeks as she gives the door another shove, willing it to open or for the ground to swallow her whole, either or.

"Not technically. I'm not harassing you."

"Oh but I am?" The playfulness in his voice answers his very question and she throws her head back in a groan, exposing the length of her neck to him before she straightens up, hands poised at her hips as she turns.

"What do you want, Robin?" She's done with their usual banter, needs to get inside, to have her cup of coffee, to get out of this miserable position she's in.

He can't help but smile wider, huffs a little sigh with his shoulders that makes his muscles pop underneath his tight shirt but no, she's not looking, not at all, before he sticks a hand into his pocket, withdraws a set of keys.

She's utterly confused, tips her head to the side in question as he twirls it in his skilled hands before he reaches toward the door, unlocks it with a simple click.

What the hell.

"You have the keys to my house?!"

"Correction: I had the keys to my friend Belle's house." He seems terribly smug, like this isn't a huge violation of her privacy, "Unlike you, Ms. Mills, Belle liked me." His eyes dance with something hot, something that lights something familiar at the pit of her stomach she chooses wisely to ignore.

Her lips tighten into a line and the way his eyes drop to them is not lost on her, but even so she manages to keep her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'm going to change the lock."

"I'm surprised you haven't already."

She huffs because she hasn't had a moment to do much of anything other than settle in – and keep Robin off her back – but now she has every motive to do so. Robin crosses his hands across his chest, flexes those distracting muscles of his as he smirks, "I suppose a thank you is in order."

Her jaw clenches, makes the prominent vein on her forehead show. If he thought for a moment that this meant anything, that she would be grateful over the fact that he's waltzed up to her, annoyed her thoroughly and then invaded her privacy this way that this would make her giddy with appreciation, than he clearly didn't know her well enough.

"Keep the noise down and park in your own damn driveway." And with that, Regina closes the door behind her, but not without the fleeting glimpse of a smirk as she goes.


	3. Little Things

**Robin calls Regina just to say he misses and loves her.**

It's well past noon and Regina Mills is still knee deep in paperwork, the stack seeming to replenish every time she thinks she's gotten somewhere relatively productive.

Emma has been in here twice already, once with Henry, and she hates that she has to send them away, bites a little too harsh for her taste and her son's when he exclaims that they've come to pick her up to have lunch.

Her hand tugs lightly against her long locks as she remembers the way his face struggles not to fall – something she's sure he's picked up from her – and only makes his way around the desk. It's no longer a slight pitter patter of feet against the hard floor but resonant sounds of a growing foot, and it's lean, long arms that wrap around her tense frame, bigger lips that press into her cheek. Henry is no longer that little boy who needed much of her but still craved it, and for that she was grateful, grateful that he still loved her as much as she did he.

Regina doesnt have to send him off. He's older now to understand that it's better to just wait it out on days like this when the workload is extensive, but Regina assures him they will have time later, she promises, seals it with a kiss to his cheek.

It's almost four thirty when she feels any sign of another human life. It comes in the form of a distracting buzz against her desk, the table directly underneath shaking slightly as her eyes move over the picture of a scruffy blonde.

She hesitates just a moment whether or not she should pick it up.

There's still an infuriatingly big stack beside her that will not get done if she diverts her attention now, but on the third ring her fingers seem to have made the decision all on their own, answering the call with a tired sigh.

"Robin, I'm busy."

"I know." Comes his dejected reply and she can almost see the frown on his face where a beautiful smile should bloom and flourish, adorned with those heart wrenching dimples. She hasn't exactly called to let him know where she's been although it's fairly obvious that work has swallowed her whole. It doesn't stop the aching feeling in his chest for her however.

"So…" She says in an effort to move the conversation along and when the silence ensues she's about to say she really does have to go, only to be stumped by Robin's quick, I miss you.

There's silence again although it's not really so, not with the pounding in her ears against the phone pressed to her. She can hear his little breath, can imagine it pick up beneath her fingertips and she closes her eyes, allows herself a simple moment to breathe, to forget about the stack of papers that need attention.

A certain thief needs her more.

"I miss you too." It's almost deafening in the silence of the room, dwarfed by the size of it entirely and yet it stands all on it's own, as strong and proud as the beating in her chest.

Is it possible to hear him smiling? She swears she does, although it's probably just familiarity, that it's impossible to hear something that doesn't have a sound.

But she feels his love and that isn't something she can measurably touch.

She can feel his nails rake against her burning flesh, feel the tender presses of kisses against her neck, can swoon over the way his accent curls around loving endearments, but his love? His love she cannot touch.

But when he murmurs those three little words against her ear, what she feels swelling in her chest reaches a part of her she knows cannot be touched, and it's with a shaky sigh, with almost trembling fingers that she swivels in her chair, leans against it before whispering, "I love you too."


End file.
